Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. The two great hotels on their right were still ablaze with lights. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself.
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